Vanilla #9 - Mother used to say
Author: Wang Xi-feng
Story: Stand and Deliver!
Flavor: Vanilla
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1,497
Summary: Racumovic makes Barto nervous.
It was late, and Barto was alone in the forest with Ibrahim Racumovic. Stojna and Hristo had sped into their house without so much as a backward glance, and the lights of the Widow Markojvic's cottage had dwindled to first a twinkle, and then a spark in the distance, and finally nothing at all. The woods were thick and dark all around them, and absent Stojna's cocksure presence, Barto wasn't sure that Things weren't going to rush out of the woods in a black, amorphous mass and seize them. He was even less sure of Racumovic. True, the man had been told to see them safely to their homes, and he'd done so, but who could say what one of Lukánsky's men might do when there were no eyes around to see? Barto wasn't sure if Racumovic was, properly, Lukánsky's man; he seemed to operate in shadier margins than the Prefect of Police.
The knot in Barto's stomach was tight, and although he'd been up since before dawn, he couldn't sleep. He'd looked forward to getting some sleep on the wagon, but knowing that Racumovic was driving it, and that he was the only one there, frightened him a little, and he couldn't even close his eyes. The donkey's hooves sounded in steady, even thuds; the road that led through the forest was ill-defined and barely more than a footpath in some places. His breath sounded loud in his ears. Even though by now, his eyes were accustomed to the dark, he could barely make out anything, and Racumovic's back loomed up in front of him, tall and terrifying.
"Penny fer yer thoughts," Racumovic said presently.
"I was asleep," Barto lied. His father was right: If you hang around with that Markojvic girl, you're going to wind up being just like her, you mark my words!
"And I’m the Tsar-Imperator a’ Nastrána. You cain’t sleep." On reflection, Racumovic added, "Yer doin' a piss-poor job a' tryin', at that."
That stung, and Barto could think of any number of things he might have said if Stojna had been there and he'd felt the need to show off in front of her. Here and now, alone with Racumovic, honesty seemed like the best policy. "All right, I couldn't sleep."
Racumovic said nothing, but waited.
"I'm scared," Barto blurted out, and immediately hated himself. What a stupid admission to make to this man, of all people!
"Now we're gettin' somewhere. What skeers you?"
"Everything." Barto’s voice sounded small and unsure in the blackness. He felt small and unsure. "My Da. He's probably going to lose his shit, especially when he sees I'm not with Cherka." The wyvern was the closest thing they had to a work animal, and his father would be furious when he found out it was lost. "The hajduki. Like, what if they kill us?" He heard Racumovic chuckle dryly in the dark; it was not an altogether reassuring sound. "Or what if they find out what we're really doing and then they kill us but they kill our whole families first? I mean, my Da isn't...we don't get along, but I don't want him to die." He gathered his breath and plunged on. "Like, what if we fail and Prefect Lukánsky is mad? And this whole thing is Stojna's adventure and she's going to be so angry if I fuck it up for her. Her whole life, Stojna's wanted to be something out of the old stories."
"I think we can discount Stojna," Racumovic said. "She's twelve. Cain't do much to a man at twelve."
"She hits hard," Barto said, rubbing his shoulder. She'd slugged him that morning over something or another, and he was sure she'd left a bruise.
"Few years' time an' you'll hit harder. I've no doubt of it."
"You think so?" Barto peered up at the seated figure in front of him.
"Sure of it. As fer the rest..." Racumovic's pace slowed as they caught sight of a parade of bobbing twinkles of light up ahead. "There's the Domna. I'll be pullin' over an' let our good neighbors pass."
"How are you so sure it's the Domna?"
"A man gits to know these things." Racumovic pulled the wagon to the side of the road, settling the donkey. "Now. As fer the rest, won't nobody let no harm come to ya in the hajduk's den, an' you let me handle Lukánsky. I've been at it longer'n you." He had bent in close to whisper, and Barto smelled tobacco; the jingling of the Domna bells, and the sound of their songs, had grown louder, and judging by the sound, their caravan must be somewhere to the right. Barto wanted to look, but was afraid; it was bad luck to watch the Domna on their way in and out, or to look as if you wanted to know where they were going.
"How can you be so sure?" Barto was trying to hold still and not face the Domna; every muscle ached and tensed. He didn't recall the last time he'd ever been so afraid of anything.
"It's my job."
They rode the last few veracy in silence, until they'd reached the place where the road dwindled to barely more than a few flat spots on the ground. Somewhere nearby, there was the run-down old shack where Barto lived with his father and aunt and brothers, hidden carefully in the woods where Starets Savic's foresters could not find them. The ground was spongy and soft after the rain, and the donkey picked its way gingerly through the few firm spots. Barto squinted, looking for the flickers of light that would give away the lean-to's location, but didn't see anything. Maybe they didn't have fuel tonight. "I can't see it," he admitted after a moment. "I don't know where they are. If it were daylight, I could find them."
"Well, now," Racumovic said. "You cain't call fer 'em?"
Barto frowned. "I could try. But I don't want anyone to hear me. I mean, I want Da to hear me. But not the foresters." For a moment, he felt a shock of cold panic--what if this got back to Lukánsky? What if he woke up to the sound of Starets Savic’s men dismantling the lean-to and moving them on their way? He swallowed hard, and then, as quietly as he could, began to whistle, drawing out the sounds. It seemed terribly loud in the darkness, but when he paused to listen, there was an answering whistle, short and staccato. For a moment, Barto almost thought it was a bird, but when he did not respond, it repeated again, and he recognized his aunt's call. "That way," he said, pointing.
"Fair enow," Racumovic said, and guided the donkey. It was tired, but plodded obediently. As they drew closer, Barto could make out just the dimmest pinpoint of light; it grew slightly brighter, and he could see his aunt's features obscured by the hand she held over her candle. She did not see him at first, her eyes scanning the dark deepness of the woods, but when he whistled to her, she responded.
"Stop!" Barto whispered, tugging Racumovic's sleeve. "You're going to run Aunt Biserka over."
"Your daddy probably already ain't too fond a' me," Racumovic said, halting the donkey. "Let's not make it worse, shall we? Git down." He motioned, and Barto managed to swing himself clumsily over the side of the wagon. His legs were half-asleep from the long ride, and he could only manage to totter unsteadily towards his aunt.
"My God, Barto, you're home!" she whispered, putting her arms around him. The shack exploded into activity all at once; the door peeped open cautiously, and there was his father's shout and his brothers' voices and Racumovic saying something above the din that settled his brothers down, though his father kept yelling. Above them, there was a wheezy, snorting noise that seemed oddly familiar, and for a moment, Barto couldn't place it.
"Cherka? Cherka!" He looked up, and could just see the movement of the wyvern, tethered to the ramshackle roof. It had already knocked a few makeshift shingles to the ground. "Cherka's home!" His father was not going to kill him for losing the wyvern. Barto sighed heavily as relief washed over him. "But wait. It's not tame, it doesn't know to come back."
"How 'bout that," Racumovic said. "I guess somebody done brought it back, then, mayhap when you weren’t lookin'."
"It's home," Barto breathed. "Thank you."
Racumovic snorted, something that might have been a laugh. "Mama always used to say all's well that ends well."
"YOU GET IN HERE," Vanko Larek's voice said, rough and angry. "YOU GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW AND YOU TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED. I WANT SOME ANSWERS OUTTA YOU." Any other time, Barto would have quailed, but at the moment, his father's voice was the best thing he had ever heard.